Signs
by Iwritestuff0
Summary: an ongoing collection of prompt-inspired drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

**001. Evidence**

She hadn't been expecting to find Gale sitting at her kitchen table when she slipped quietly through the door. "Where you been, Katnip?" his voice was rough, the low rumble he gets whenever he's tired.

"I was visiting Haymitch. Got late, fell asleep on his couch for a bit." She paused to study the boy. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see how you were doing, maybe ask if you wanted to go hunting."

"At this hour?" She pulled her coat from her shoulders and hung it on the hook beside the door before moving to join him at the table.

"Well there were still a few hours of daylight left when I dropped by."

_Oh._ She cringed, "Sorry, Gale. I just went to give Haymitch something and I guess I lost track of the time. He's got that irritating habit of making me forget why I ever went over in the first place."

"I noticed." His voice was cold as he stood from the table.

"Gale! Wait," she called. "Where are you going? I'm sorry!"

"Y'know, Katnip," he nodded towards her, "you really shouldn't let your _boyfriend_ leave such a telling mark on you. Especially if you two are still trying to convince everyone that you're madly in love with the baker boy."

Her hand shot to her neck as he ducked out the door without another word.

Oh. Right. She knew there was a reason she'd thrown her coat on for the short walk across the street. She rubbed the bite mark lightly, in thought. She was going to kill Haymitch tomorrow.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**002. I'm Here**

It's late when she slips through the door and into his front hall. The house is quiet save for a soft... _something_... that occasionally breaks the stillness. It's not really a whimper or a moan or a sob. And yet it's just as much all three as it is none of them.

She silently picks her way through the messy house towards the source of the sound. She tries not to think about how well she knows the lay of the trash at this point.

The house is dark and she can barely make out his rumpled form on the couch. He doesn't stir as she approaches, or even as she coaxes the knife from his tight grip. It's when she's slipping the empty bottle from the loose fingers of his other hand, that he finally stirs.

Gray eyes meet gray eyes. She slides the bottle the rest of the way out of his grip, but his hand tightens at the last minute. "It's empty," she whispers softly. "Let me get you another one."

"No." His free hand reaches out for her arm and she goes to him. And then they're nothing but an entanglement of limbs on a couch. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. Prim was having a bad night." the '_too_' at the end goes unspoken, even though they both hear it.

His hand is moving slowly up and down her back, as if to remind himself he's not alone. She accepts it and watches his face from her position on his chest. His own eyes are staring into the darkness above him. "I'm here now," she whispers. "I'm here."

Sometimes they do this. This weird thing. She needs him during the day. He needs her at night. Sometimes she needs his steady presence to remind her to keep on. Sometimes he needs her silent company to remind him he's not alone. Not anymore, at least. It's something he's still getting used to. "I'm here," she whispers one last time before they both slip silently from consciousness.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**003.1 Funeral**

It wasn't anything special. Not by any standards. She'd never really gotten a chance to properly deal with anything since the fallout. And after a month of being back in 12, and her never leaving her house, he decided it was time to step up once again and save the girl.

They stood on a grassy knoll just outside the old fence, he a few paces behind her. He watched as the gentle spring breeze blew her bangs around her face. She was staring fixedly at the old doll in her hands, fingers tracing the the pattern on it's cloth dress gently. He shifted his hips and leaned more heavily on the shovel at his side, pulling his light coat up against the creeping fingers of winter that had yet to relinquish it's grip.

Eventually she lowered the doll into the small hole he'd dug, placing her gently on the bed of flowers they'd collected. Turning to him, her gray eyes met his silently, she was ready. Digging the matches out of his pocket with a soft sigh, he approached her. She watched quietly as he lit a match and lowered it into the pit.

Her eyes didn't leave the scene until the last ember had faded slowly from existence. It was darker now. Somewhere along the line dusk had settled in. They walked back the village in silence, were about halfway home when she spoke. "She never got to see it," her voice was soft. "What?" he asked after it was apparent she wasn't going to elaborate. "What she was fighting for," she turned to him. "Peace." He blinked at her, there wasn't much else to do, and drew her into his side with an arm around her shoulder.

He didn't have any words of comfort to add, because what could he say anyway? He of all people knew that talk was cheap when it came to losing all the family you had. As she leaned into his embrace though, he wondered if maybe they _hadn't_ lost all the family they had.

-...-

**003.2 Funeral**

The crown was placed delicately on her head as she stared with dead eyes into the screaming faces. No, not dead. Not yet. Shell-shocked. A dull haze that only he could see as her gray eyes swept across the sea of faces before her. Before landing on _his_. He never intended to hold it, but once her gaze met his he found he couldn't possibly look away. Not now. Not yet. She still needed him. And the hardest part was only beginning.

The shell-shocked look faded into a dull confusion. They're on the train now. Headed home. She hasn't met his eye since the crowning. Sat through all the interviews in a daze. This is the first time she's had any chance to actually sit and think since she "won".

Because it's not winning, is it? Not really. It's more like losing if you really think about it. But no does until they've "won". Until they realize that now they have to live with the memories and the punishments. Because there _are_ punishments for being the winner. Just ask him or Finnick, or Johanna or Cashmere, or any other number of the lucky "winners". He wonders how long it'll take for the punishments to start for her.

He had gone back to his room. Preferring to drink in peace now that the Games were over and he needn't be sober anymore. It was dark when wandered back out into the main cart. He wasn't surprised to find her still staring blankly out the window. Wasn't sure she'd even moved since he'd confined himself to his room several hours ago. He refilled the empty glass and, grabbing the rest of the bottle, ventured over to where she was sitting.

The confusion had faded from her eyes. In it's place, a soft sadness. She barely acknowledged him when he joined her, and they sat in silence for awhile.

"I killed him." Her voice was soft, rough with disuse. She hadn't actually killed him. Not really. But once you step out of the arena as the last living soul, you know you've killed them all. You know all that blood is on _your_ hands. Another punishment for being the "winner".

He wordlessly offered her the glass. He had no words of comfort. There were none. He knew this much from experience. Her fingers curled around it, but she didn't bring it to her lips. "How do you live with it?"

He felt a wry smile pull at his lips, "you don't."

Because you didn't really, and as he watched the last bit of sadness give way, he knew she understood. Her dead eyes met his before she brought the glass to her lips.

All the real winners die in the arena. While the ones who lose were propped up like heroes, paraded around like kings and queens, dead only on the inside.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**004. Puppy Love**

He's seen her around town before, making trades in the Hob, dragging her haul from door to door of her regular customers. He noticed the older boy who trailed sullenly behind her. They never smiled. But they were Seam kids, what was there to smile about? He watched as the boy fell slowly in love with the girl and the girl continued on, oblivious.

Once he caught the youngest baker's boy watching forlornly as she ducked across the road, headed for the field and fence that mark her freedom.

He watched silently as both boys' faces crumbled when she bravely made her way to the stage in place of her sister.

And he didn't remember any of this until after he'd dragged her through the Games, returned her home safe and sound and to the best of his abilities, and then watched her meet one boy's eyes while grasping the other's hand.

She was going to make this as difficult as possible, wasn't she?

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**005. Gloves**

_They're Cinna's_, She lied. Because she knew deep down he hated the man just as much as he hated the boy. Gale never _could_ accept that sometimes he just wasn't what she needed.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**006. Blackboard**

He caught her standing outside the school one day, lost in her thoughts. No doubt thinking about how it was just barely a year ago when she was in there with them.

He remembers what it was like, coming back afterwards. He didn't miss any of it, his old life, not after they took everything away from him. He couldn't think about going back after that. He couldn't think about anything that happened before the Games. It was too painful. So they were thoughts he only invited in when he was lost between the blur of the alcohol and unconsciousness.

She shook herself from her thoughts, spying him as she turned to continue her journey to wherever. Slowing her pace, she waited for him to fall into step with her.

"Thinking about the good ol' days?" His voice came out softer than he intended and she merely smiled. They continued their walk in silence. They paused outside the Hob and he took a moment to study her. "You ever miss it?" She seemed to think it over for a moment before meeting his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Nah," she moved past him, preparing to slip into the old building. "One grumpy old teacher is more than enough for me."

He couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle before following her inside, "y'know, teachers' attitudes are usually reflective of their students."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**007. Muse**

He knew he had something special the moment she nearly pinned his hand to the table. It was only an inkling idea then, a _maybe we can win this one_. _maybe I can save this one_.

When she put those berries in her mouth, full well knowing the Capitol would have to call her bluff, he knew what he had to do. _for her_. _for them_. _for us_.

And when he pulled her out of the second arena, fire and retribution licking at their heels, he knew she would be resistant. _I've used you no differently than them, please forgive me._

But when she looked him in the eye and said, voice strong and steady, _I'm going to be the Mockingjay_, he knew his work was not in vain.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**008. Magic**

They fell apart after returning to District 12. Broken into a million pieces. Shattered on the floor. The days went by in a blur, neither of them seemed to take any notice.

And then their light came home. And suddenly the days slowed down. Shifted into focus. Slowly filled the cracks.

"Do you remember they way we were?" She asks him one night. The second half goes unspoken. _Before Peeta came back_. They're sitting in his kitchen, the boy still at the bakery, perhaps already on his way home. He'll know where to find her, them, when he returns home to an empty house. Or maybe he already knows. He was good at understanding them like that.

He smiles wryly, toying with the empty glass before him. _A mess_, he thinks. Instead he simply says, "yeah."

"How did he ever manage..." she pauses, staring at her own glass. "to _fix_ us?"

_He's stronger than both me and you_, he thinks. Instead he just says, "Magic."

Because maybe it was.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**009. Clean**

They demanded he stop drinking when he first met them. And so he did.

She demanded his home be kept neat. And so it was.

And when he stopped by one night on a whim and found her passed out in a pile of trash and vomit he pulled himself together long enough to bathe her and move her to the bed.

Because it was their duty to keep each other clean.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**010. Secret**

"You and me. That's who he plans on coming home," She says as they sit at his table.

"Well, then the joke's on him," he replies.

But it's not entirely true. Because he doesn't plan on saving the boy. Not if it means losing her. He'll do all in his power to get them all out of this alive, but what he can't tell her, not yet, is that the joke's on _her_.

Because _she's_ who _he_ plans on coming home. Even if he and the boy don't.


	2. Chapter 2

**011. Superstition**

"Bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding," his voice drifts smoothly into the room, and they turn to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

She merely stares as Peeta chuckles happily, "You're right. I have to go talk to Sae anyway," he gives her a quick peck on the cheek before heading for the door. "Good to see you," he murmurs lowly, squeezing the older man's arm as he passes. And suddenly they're alone. Peeta always knew what they needed better than they did.

"I didn't think you were coming," her voice is soft, a hesitance only he could pick up coating it.

"Well, I knew I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't." He shifts his gaze from her eyes to his shoes, "figure this way I got at least few months of peace before one of you comes banging into my house demanding my attention again."

She doesn't resist the soft smile that creeps across her face. His eyes flick back up to hers at her silence. "Thank you, Haymitch."

The smile that slinks across his face is soft, but genuine. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**012. Fantasy**

She rarely speaks of the days before the rebellion. But when her daughter asks her one night for a story about a princess and a prince, she suddenly finds herself speaking about them in a way she never imagined she'd be able to.

"But how did the princess get home after defeating the wicked witch, mommy?" The child was fighting to stay awake, a tiny fist rubbing tiredly at a bleary eye.

"She had help," she smoothed the blankets around the sleepy child. "From her knight."

"I'm glad the knight was around to help the princess so much, he musta really liked her." She smiled as the girl fought off a heavy yawn. "He did, sweetie," she dropped a kiss onto the now sleeping child's head before standing to switch off the light.

She paused at the window, a light across the street catching her eye as it poured softly from the window of the neighboring house. "He really did."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**013. Test**

"I vote yes... for Prim." Her voice doesn't waver. So this is what she's chosen. She's sure. She knows what she must do. And now it's down to him. And this is his test. Does he stand with her or does the Mockingjay stand alone. She's not looking at him but he knows she knows he's watching. And he can't say he's happy about it. Because somewhere along the way he grew attached. But he's never been one to let his own selfishness stand in the way of what's best, not since it cost him his family. And when it comes to her he's been finding it harder and harder to deny her anything. When he ignores Peeta's growling about injustice in his ear, gives his final vote, disappoints half the room, all he sees is the slight relaxation of her shoulders. As if she thought maybe he'd vote against her. But they both know she needn't have worried.

Because from the very moment he met her, he's been _with the Mockingjay_.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**014. Tease**

It's Johanna Mason who first notices the change in him. She watches him with a critical eye for several days during their first games. He figures she eventually loses interest when her own tributes fall and her attention turns to other things. It's not until he sees her again at the Quell that she says anything.

His stomach drops when he spies her stalking towards him through the throng of bodies on the first night. Like an animal sizing up it's prey. She never did waste any time. She's in front of him before he can escape.

"_Hey Haymitch_," her tone is smooth and dangerous, something Johanna has always been good at. He knows he's in trouble.

"Johanna." He's lost his group somewhere in the crowd, but this seems to be Johanna's intention.

"I never got the chance to properly_ congratulate_ you on your_ win_ last year." Her eyes narrowed as a small smirk pulled at her lips. "That's some team you've got there. I figured they had to be something special when Blight told me you'd manged to stay sober for the entire Games."

His eyes scanned the crowd distractedly, "Do you have a point to get to, Jo, or are you just eager to get a jump on irritating me?"

"You actually like them don't you?" His attention flicked back to her. "I mean you _really_ like them."

Before he could do more than roll his eyes at her, a new body materialized at his side. "Haymitch. Let's _go_. Effie's about to have a meltdown and I'd love to just get through the day at this point." Johanna may have been good at smooth and dangerous, but Katniss always had the monopoly on soft and stealthy. He kicks himself for not yet being able to pick up on her sneaking. Right now though his main concern is keeping her from conversing with Johanna. At least while she's in this dangerous mindset. He's in no mood to pick apart a pair of quarreling victors. Especially if they're two of the more hot headed ones.

He puts a hand on Katniss's shoulder, well aware that this will irritate her, and begins to move her through the crowd. "I'll catch up in a minute, Sweetheart," and even though it's got his old sarcastic spin on it, the endearment makes Johanna's grin grow wider. He turns back just in time to catch the dangerous flash of teeth before she prepares to sink them into her kill. "_Oh_... I see... you really like _her_."

Letting out a frustrated growl he turns to follow his girl on fire through the crowd. "How did anyone manage to breach the cold closed heart of Haymitch Abernathy?" Johanna says, "I thought you didn't trust anyone enough to get that close?"

He turns to face her one last time, "yeah, well she earned it."

Johanna's eyes widen slightly at the finality of his tone and he knows he's manged to win this round. "How'd she manage to do that?"

Smirking slightly, he turned to leave once more, "that's between me and her."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He allowed his grin to grow bigger as the dangerous girl called after him, "Haymitch! Come _on_, you can't_ finally_ join in the conversation like that and then just walk away! Haymitch! You_ tease_! This is why you don't have any friends!"

With a final disgusted grunt, Johanna turned to head for her own destination. There'd be plenty of time to figure out Haymitch's interest in the girl on fire later. It's not like she had anything better to do for the next few days.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**015. Storm**

She shows up on his doorstep, dripping wet, at an hour no one should be conscious. He immediately understand that the roaring thunder isn't the only storm rolling through their little village tonight.

He settles her on the couch, wraps her in a blanket, throws her wet clothes in front of the fire, and hands her a bottle. She doesn't say a word as he takes care of her.

He grabs his own bottle and drops heavily into the seat beside her and it doesn't take long for her head to find his shoulder. It fits so well in the space between his chin and chest that he wonders if it wasn't molded specifically for her. For nights like these. It's not long now before the tears start.

They rarely speak on these nights. They were always best at communicating silently anyway. It's been a year since their return to District 12, and while these nights have grown fewer as the months drag on, he wonders if they'll ever completely stop. The storm roars on and he imagines the roar of anger that might be drifting into the dark from her house had the thunder not already claimed the night as it's own.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, neither of them ever do on those nights, but he awakens as usual the next morning to the smell of freshly baked bread. The girl is still asleep on his shoulder and he does his best not to wake her as he stands to move to the kitchen.

"It happened again." The boy's voice is quiet. Broken. These nights were just as hard on him as they were on them.

"S'not your fault," he moves to a cupboard, pulls out a bottle.

"I could've killed her." The boy won't look at him, hands splayed across the counter, face turned down, shoulders hunched.

"But you didn't," The morning is the same as the evening. Just a different routine for each of them. But always the same in their own sense. The boy looks at him now.

"Why does she stay with me, Haymitch?" And he knows as she stirs in the next room, awakening to the smell of freshly baked bread, that the truth is all he can give the boy.

"Because she needs you."

_We both do_.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**016. Strawberries**

She was young the first time he met her. Her father had brought her into the Hob with him as he traded and sold his goods. She carried her own basket, full of _what_, he couldn't tell. He was waiting for Ripper to fill his "order" when she ran into him. Instead of timid fear, the kind most children show when running into someone who's much bigger than them, she scowled up at him angrily. As if it was _his_ fault _she_ hadn't been watching where she was going. The contents of her basket spilled over to the floor on impact and she crouched to scoop them back into her little hands. He doesn't know why he did it (maybe it was the indignant scowl, so out of place on her little face, she had spunk, he liked that) but Ripper was still in negotiations with another customer, and so he found himself crouching to help the child collect her fallen strawberries. They finished their job just as her father's brilliant voice rang out, calling for her to return. He still had a strawberry in his hand as she stood and darted back to her calling father, basket bouncing merrily before her. He smirked to himself as he stood, Ripper was already pulling out his usual order. He watched as the girl trailed after her father and out of the building before popping the strawberry into his mouth. Yeah. Spunk.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**017. Weapon**

All it took was a second. He lowered his guard just long enough for her to launch herself at his face, nails raking a nice deep trail from his forehead to his chin. The pain was instantaneous and before he could retaliate several pairs of arms had already pulled both of them apart. Suddenly they were screaming. Neither of them listening to the hatred spewing from the other's mouth, only focusing on hurling their own burning insults. Because the deadliest of weapons did no good against experienced killers like them.

When it came down to the two of_ them_, no weapon cut deeper than words.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**018. Beach**

He finds her quietly studying an old picture one day, and drops into the seat across from her, waits for her to initiate conversation. Her gray eyes flick to his briefly before returning to the picture. "Finnick's son turns 3 today." He doesn't say anything, waits to see if she feels like including him in her line of thought or not. He gets his answer as her next words are soft, "we should go to the beach sometime."

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**019. Lost**

He found her in the hall the night following Peeta's return. He knew he should return her to her room, but instead he found himself sliding to the floor next to her. Time seemed not to exist in the dark halls of the forgotten District and he lost all sense of how long they shared a silence, when she spoke he couldn't tell if it had been minutes or hours. "Peeta's gone." Her soft voice barely pierced the surrounding darkness. His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he wrestled for what to say. "He's not gone."

But he knew that wasn't enough. Glancing at the shadow of the girl beside him, the darkness illuminated the cracks that the light of day could not. The boy wasn't _gone_. His gaze moved to his hands as he found the words he wanted in the crumbling image of the girl beside him. "He's just lost."

Though he could not see it for the darkness, he could feel her gray eyes on him. Questioning him. Challenging him.

And though_ she_ could not see_ his_ gray eyes for the surrounding darkness, he knew she met them steadily when he turned his head to face her.

"We _will_ get him back, sweetheart. All of him."

Because he knew the boy was the only thing that saved_ them_ from being lost. And now it was their turn to return the favor.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**020. Cry**

She's not as strong as she looks, but he's the only one who would know this. Because after she's done being strong for everyone around her (her drifting mother, her small sister, her fierce and fiery partner, and her golden-hearted savior) it's_ his_ arms she collapses into, and _his_ chest who plays the sole witness to her moment of weakness.

She's not as strong as she looks, but he's the only one who would know this. And he's made a promise to them both, to take this secret to the grave.


	3. Chapter 3

**021. Aloof**

He brushed her off. Just like that. Of course she didn't expect him to be _thrilled_ or to _immediately_ go for it, but still. He just brushed her off. She thought Haymitch of all people would be willing to leave all this behind. He's lost more than_ any_ of them to this horrible world. And yet he didn't even seem to care when she suggested they run away, leave it all behind.

And she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**022. Blood**

She doesn't know why they do it. They vowed after the first time, _never again_.

It started with a fight. Nothing more than hurtling words at one another. Words that cut like knives. And when his words cut too deep she slapped him.

It started with a fight. His cheek flared red, the first of many imprints of her burned into his skin. The words turned to a growl when he grabbed her. And when her back connected roughly with the wall she kissed him.

It started with a fight. Both refused to be the first to break contact. Always stubborn. Always a power struggle. And when his nails punctured the skin of her arms, her teeth pierced the flesh of his lips.

It started with a fight. Blood ran down her arms, his palms splaying red across everything he touched. Blood spilled from his lips and their kisses whispered of the tang of iron. And when she pushed him to the floor he drug her after him.

It started with a fight. They lay in the aftermath, attempting to catch their breath. Sweat and blood and the scent of something carnal hung heavy in the air. Her blood stained his hands. His blood coated her lips. And when he took a pull from one of the bottles they hadn't managed to break over each other in the stuggle, she took it from him without asking.

He doesn't know why they do it. They vowed after the first time, _never again_.

But they never were any good at keeping promises.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**023. Search**

He isn't like Peeta. Peeta is gentle. Peeta is soft. Peeta is caring.

When _he_ kisses her it's forceful, it's hard, it's with abandon.

He isn't like Gale either. Gale is passionate. Gale is focused. Gale is attentive.

When _he_ holds her it's desperate, it's reckless, it's without concern.

And when Gale and Peeta have abandoned her it only takes her moments to realize that they're not what she needs anymore anyway.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**024. Lively**

Peeta had been back for a month by the time they finally ran into each other again.

The town was slowly reassembling itself and something about the gentle summer breeze that had been slinking through their village lately had called to them both.

She was standing outside the building Peeta had been fixing up for a new bakery. He had come out of the Hob, or the closest thing they had to the old Hob in the construction of their new lives.

Their eyes met from across the road. Briefly. If they hadn't happened to look up at just the time they did they would've missed one another. But they always did have that sixth sense when it came to the other's presence.

Gray met gray as they studied each other for a beat. The serious expression that was usually so at home on her face lifted for a moment. Just a moment. As they took each other in in a way they'd never experienced before.

The shadows behind her eyes were retreating. The unease he'd grown accustomed to seeing in her hard gaze giving way to something else.

The pain in his eyes was fading. The loneliness she'd grown accustomed to seeing in his distant gaze giving way to something new.

They locked eyes for only a moment.

But it was clear to both of them that something had changed.

The return of their light, the arrival of the spring and fresh beginnings, had put something in them that neither of them had ever thought they'd experience in themselves or each other.

The dead hopelessness was slowly giving way to the soft shine of life.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**025. Remorseful**

It was his fault Prim died. Or really, she blamed him for it and that _made_ it his fault.

Somewhere along the line they'd fallen apart. And Gale had no choice but to watch helplessly as the girl on fire slipped through his fingers.

He'd never been as strong as he claimed to be. Not without her standing beside him, giving him his strength. So he'd fled to District 2. And he made a home there. A new life. A life for him. A life without her.

He went back only once.

He'd felt guilty about abandoning her the way he did. Leaving her with nothing. No one but her drunk mentor for company. He'd been bitter. _Let her rot the way he has, let him teach her his best lesson of all. Let him teach her to fall apart in a way no one can fix._ But his guilt, and curiosity, got the best of him.

He went back only once. Expecting to find her broken and a mess. A perfect imitation of the man she'd placed all her trust into. Instead he found the opposite.

She never knew he came back.

He didn't stay long. Only long enough to watch from a distance as she climbed the steps to the man's house, knocked on the door, smiled begrudgingly as it opened. He watched as the man leaned heavily on the doorframe, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. He watched as a blond head popped out from behind the man, warm grin dancing upon _his_ lips as well. And he watched as they shared a love that he could never give her.

He returned to his new life with a heavy heart.

But in hindsight, maybe a little pain was just what he needed to finally move on.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**026. Dismiss**

He only ever brushed her off _once_. "Stay alive," he'd quipped. And suddenly there was a knife where his hand had been only seconds before.

He never made the mistake of dismissing her again.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**027. Heavy**

Peeta was the only one who ever understood their connection. And even then, he didn't fully grasp it, just knew there was something deeper that only _they_ could share.

But it wasn't as deep as anyone seemed to think. It wasn't anything complicated or miraculous.

They just simply knew when the weight of the world became too much. And when the other needed them to be there to share the burden.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**028. Forward**

He met her at the edge of the meadow. She was staring out at the mountains in the distance, lost in her thoughts. Stopping next to her, they shared a few moments of silence before she acknowledged his presence.

"Peeta wants to have kids." Her eyes don't leave the scene in front of her.

He can't say he wasn't expecting this. He knows she was too, in a way. With a sigh he arranges what he wants to say before speaking, and when he does his voice is soft, "the Games are over, Katniss. They're not coming back."

Her gray eyes are on his now. He can see an intense storm rolling behind them. When she speaks, her voice is low, scared, "that's what I'm afraid of."

He's smiling before he can help himself and her worry is quickly replaced by anger. He wraps and arm around her neck before she can stalk off (or worse, take a swing at him), and pulls her into his side. "Sweetheart, I think you've spent enough of your life worrying," she's struggling to get out of his grip, to storm moodily away from him, to carry the weight of her worry on her own, when he gently pulls her back to face him. His thumb brushes her cheek softly as he smiles reassuringly, "don't you think it's time you deserved to move forward?"

And when she stills in his grasp and the storm leaves her eyes he knows that's all she was waiting to hear.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**029. Prowl**

He always made sure to fall asleep with a knife in his hand. Not because he was haunted by dying memories of the past, but to ward off anyone who tried to get too close. When he was awake he had his wits and biting tongue to ward anyone off. Asleep he was weak, vulnerable, and open for anyone to slip in while his guard was lowered.

He learned early on that being close to people only caused you pain in the end. And so after everything he loved was ripped away from him he vowed,_ never again_. That's when the bottle became his only friend. That's when the drink became his only lover.

And then _she_ came along.

The thing about Katniss was she never did anything she was told to, or rather, she always did what he told her _not_ to. The thing about Katniss was she always saw right through him, even when she couldn't see through herself. The thing about Katniss was... she was a hunter.

Finnick once said Annie snuck up on him. He can't help thinking Finnick doesn't really understand the definition of sneaking.

-...-...-...-...-...-...-

**030. Cut**

A fight. They'd had another fight. It was the only thing they were any good at anymore.

Now they sat on opposite sides of his kitchen, glaring at different patches of his floor.

His hand was bleeding, he'd sliced it open on the shards that scattered across the table when she shattered the bottle that he'd been sucking at.

But he knew he got the better end of the deal. Because his wound was visible. She'd cut him with something physical. _He'd_ sliced into _her_ with with his words.

He was always the better of them at using his tongue as a weapon.


End file.
